


Burning Up Like Neon Lights

by thelilacfield



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Fans & Fandom, Alternate Universe - PR, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Gossip, M/M, Paparazzi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'How could he not have linked Connor Walsh, fresh new face to Keating Records, with the gorgeous musician who seduced him back in September?' ~ Oliver Hampton is the newest public relations officer at Keating PR, working under Annalise Keating to represent four up-and-coming stars. But when Connor Walsh breezes back into his life, seemingly determined to repeat an unbelievable week from three lonely months ago, he begins to find himself doubting the number one rule: Don't get involved with a client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baby When They Look Up At The Sky

**A/N:** Sorry to say that updating might be a little sporadic, since I'm being worked hard at school and I get busy. But I will definitely finish this little project of mine, and I hope you all enjoy it. Fic and chapter titles taken from  _Neon Lights_ by Demi Lovato.

* * *

Hearing, "Fuck my  _life_!" said the moment you step into the office does not present the greatest start to the week. It's nine thirty on a Monday morning, and the small trash can next to Annalise's desk is already half-full with empty polystyrene coffee mugs, and Oliver is in the process of buttoning his coat against the December chill yet again to fuel the frantic workings of the two of his seniors currently present.

He's saved from braving the icy streets for the fourth time today when Frank bursts in, bearing two cardboard coffee trays and a bag of food swinging from one wrist, the plastic handles pulled ominously taut, setting his burden down on Bonnie's desk and asking, "What happened?" as he peels off his snow-flecked gloves, turning the electric heater humming on the floor up another notch.

"Millstone," Bonnie says, spitting the word out like it's poison. "That pretty little bird he's been seeing sang to the rooftops." She turns the screen towards Frank, showing off the various texts and pictures exchanged between Asher and his latest girlfriend, now splashed across every gossip site on the internet with warnings for explicit content glaring out. Frank just stares, and Bonnie picks up another cup of coffee, rubbing her fingers around her temples. "Remind me why we decided to represent such young stars?"

"The younger they are, the brighter they shine," Annalise says, and stares at the screen in consideration. "Firstly, we need to get Millstone here so I can shout at him. Then, we deal with the fallout."

"This is a huge mess needing to be cleaned up," Frank remarks, and starts to reach for one of the office phones, fingers hovering over the keyboard of his computer. "Oliver, we're going to need your help today." He almost blossoms for a second, ready to smile,  _so_  ready to handle something with this level of backlash, but then Frank says, "There's a new client coming in today, some musician type. Can you handle the background check and the interview? Name's Connor Walsh."

"Sure," Oliver says, forcing cheerfulness into his voice even though he feels weighted with disappointment. It's been over a year since he was the one chosen from eight interns to be hired, and he's still not breaking into the big cases. Situations like this aren't open to him - he's sent out to get coffee or left cleaning up files or checking out their other clients while the big three deal with the press. Although he enjoys interacting with their clients, he just wants to be a big name in PR like Annalise Keating.

**From: Michaela Pratt**

**Hey, how are the Big Three handling Asher's latest screw-up? Aiden and I are hosting dinner on Saturday, want to join us? Just the usual gang - plus one of Aiden's friends.**

**From: Oliver Hampton**

**Please tell me you didn't invite someone just to 'even up the numbers'. I told you, I'm not interested.**

**From: Michaela Pratt**

**Is this still about three months ago? How many times does Laurel have to snap at you to get over it before you do?**

**From: Oliver Hampton**

**I'll be there for dinner, but I can't promise to flirt with Aiden's friend. Although I'm sure he's a very nice person.**

Sighing, Oliver silences his phone and buries it under a pile of paper in his desk drawer, pulling his laptop close and keying  _Connor Walsh_  into the search bar, already pulling the card with passwords for various sites out of his wallet. Michaela is a sweet woman, and she tries to have his best interests at heart. She was one of the first clients to come to Annalise back when she was just the girl from the toothpaste commercials, and she's grown as a person under their representation. Already engaged to Aiden when she started out, the most controversial thing she's done since they started managing her public image is have her first child before her wedding - and in the midst of drug addictions, infidelity and sex with minors, a baby born out of wedlock hardly even makes ripples in the water.

But he really,  _really_  wishes that she wouldn't try to manage his love life. With her taking a break from acting to take care of her daughter, all her free time is devoted to being social with the same relentless zeal Oliver has only ever seen displayed by women on  _Real Housewives_. She's thrown exactly four dinner parties in the last two months, even when she was dangerously close to giving birth and they all spent the entire evening terrified she would go into labour. The entire office is always invited - Oliver is the only one who ever goes. He genuinely enjoys spending time with Michaela, Aiden, and the three other stars that he helps to represent, but all of them are growing tired of him being the only single one in their midst. And they irritatingly make it their business to find someone for him.

Focusing on the laptop screen, Oliver scrolls past the articles about a 'virtually unknown bar singer' being signed by Keating Records - owned by Annalise's husband, of course. Keating was declared the most influential name in the celebrity world just last year - because he knows all about it. What little information he gleans about Annalise's personal life is often still related to their working life. But there's no criminal record, no matter how far down he reaches, and eventually he finds himself on a school website, looking through the archive for anything they might have to confront. But Connor Walsh was a model student - even started pre-law at college, though he seemingly left that to pursue music. He was part of a vocal group - never competed - and on the swim team - three silver medals to his name - and on the events committee - organised a senior prom so extravagant that the news even wound its way through the high schools to Oliver's sleepy little hometown.

But the one piece of information that catches Oliver's eyes is seemingly simple, but could mean a whole number of things in the world of celebrity he inhabits.  _LGBT Society - President_. It doesn't have to mean anything - straight allies are growing in voice and number every day. But a straight boy as president of the LGBT society seems unlikely - so it almost certainly means something. Something that they'll have to confront at this interview, because they've dealt with both ends of the spectrum - aggressively closeted and out and proud - and everything in between. He still has nightmares about the cold, quivering rage that ripped Annalise's composed face apart when those pictures were released of Laurel with her girlfriend at the time, half-naked and clearly  _busy_ , taken and released by Laurel herself, sick of the media glossing over her bisexuality. It took all of Frank's cajoling and promising that he would handle her to persuade Annalise to keep her with them, and left them with a veritable shit storm to clean up. Since Laurel started dating Wes - clean, respectable, boy-next-door Wes - the media have stopped bringing up the picture whenever they write about her, but Oliver can practically feel her getting frustrated again, and dreads the storm that's going to blow over.

Returning to the original search page, Oliver breathes a sigh of relief and clicks on the YouTube results. No sordid past to cover up - the one thing that almost had Asher dropped before he was ever more than a potential. Not that his present is any less sordid - especially since he started dating models who don't like him talking cheerfully to the press about women he finds attractive. In Bonnie's bitchily accurate words, 'He's a frat-bro who still doesn't realise that he needs to not talk sometimes.' Oliver may actually have a bet going with her on how soon they're going to have a pregnant woman to deal with - and Asher has to stop being responsible sometime soon, he only has three months before Bonnie takes him to the cleaners.

The covers are numerous, of a range of artists, and Oliver clicks on the video for the first song he recognises:  _COVER OF ED SHEERAN - KISS ME BY CONNOR WALSH_. The voice that starts to sing is definitely good enough for Sam to sign, strong and sensual in all the right ways, and Oliver can already tell that they'll be making him the direct opposite to Wes's boyish charm that makes girls swoon. Connor Walsh will be the dark horse, much in the same way as Laurel is rebellious and loud-mouthed and aloof compared to Michaela's sunny smile and sweetness and maternal nature - although it's a good thing no one from the press has ever heard the things she confides when she's had too much to drink.

Oliver is back to thinking again when he finds an older video, posted three years ago, proclaiming itself  _ACOUSTIC COVER OF LADY GAGA - JUDAS BY CONNOR WALSH_. This doesn't have a blank background to the video, but a young, excited face. The same shine is in Connor's eyes as he sees when Laurel performs, that joy to be doing something she loves so much. He barely remembers the song, but Connor's voice is truly stunning, the simple background music - played by him? Or are there two people behind this force of talent? - letting him shine.

And it's then, watching him sing, that the realisation washes over Oliver like a bucket of cold water has just been turned over his head. It trickles over his skin, icy down the back of his neck and his spine, and his fingers curl into fists on the desk, the anger and the longing and the sadness all surging up in an emotional mess that makes him feel slightly nauseous. His body itches with the want to move, and he does, walking out onto the fire escape, the cold biting into him, and staring at the flurries of flakes swirling in the wind. He watches them fall, so white and pure and perfect against the grime of the city, and he leans on the railings and thinks.

How could he not have linked Connor Walsh, fresh new face to Keating Records, with the gorgeous musician who seduced him back in September? Laurel had dragged him to the bar under the excuse of scoping out the competition, and then had disappeared to see Wes. But he'd stayed, listening to the hopefuls who sang and swayed with their guitars, or who sat at the piano and crooned ballads into the microphone. They had all been good, confident enough in their abilities to sing into a crowded bar, but none of them had measured up to Connor. Last onstage, he had been the sort of man who would make anyone glance back at him in amazement. No matter how simply he was dressed, you couldn't take your eyes off the confident way he held himself, his bright eyes, the arrogant little smirk or the flicker of his gaze that read  _I'm trouble and you know it_.

And when he sang, the whole bar listened. Even the squeaking of chairs and hiss of whispers and the clink of glasses stopped as everyone listened to him follow the melodies of heartbreak and hope and sex, voice soothing all the stress that weighed on Oliver's shoulders, until he was smiling and swaying slightly along. When he finished, the applause was as rapturous as it would ever be in a tiny piano bar, and he stepped down radiating joy. And then, against all odds, he'd found Oliver. Brought him a drink and looked him up and down and made him feel desirable. So  _wanted_. They'd danced and drank more and more until the world was a kaleidoscope of spinning colours, the sound of lips on lips and the rumble of a taxi and the breathless laughing as they stumbled through Oliver's door and into bed, clothes twisted and hands eager.

It had been the wildest night of Oliver's life. Sure, he'd hooked up with people before. Some more than once, dizzy desire in the dead of night and awkward eye contact in the morning - except for that one man, the one who became a close friend throughout college and volunteered himself as a plus one for family events - but it had never been like this. Not with a man he'd met hours earlier, who'd plucked on his heart strings as he sang about things Oliver craved, not with a man as desirable and desiring as Connor. Who writhed beneath him and made him writhe, their sweat-slick skin sticking to their clothes and the sheets and each other, who kissed him like he was a man crawling through the desert and Oliver was a cool drink of water, whose hands did things he never could've imagined possible.

The first time was over quickly, but they'd lain together in quiet contentment. Oliver had traced the dark lines of Connor's tattoos with the tips of his fingers, and Connor had told the story behind each one, talked about his personal artwork and his body as a canvas until Oliver had kissed the pair of vivid crimson lips tattooed at the top of his thigh, black music notes curling sensually from the lips like smoke, and the whole world had become the rattle of the headboard against the wall and the sound of Connor's moans and the way he opened a packet of cigarettes afterwards and smirked when he offered them to Oliver. Even the morning hadn't been awkward, Connor sliding into the shower behind Oliver and whispering into the back of his neck and making him late enough for work to be on the receiving end of a frosty look from Bonnie.

But it had been too quick. It had lasted a week. A week of dark shadows beneath his eyes as a footnote to sleepless nights and aches in his body from too much sex and Connor calling and him responding like a puppy desperate to be loved. Then Connor had stopped texting. Stopped picking up his calls. And when Oliver went back to the bar, hoping to see him again, he saw Connor direct the sexiest song of his set to a new man, and saw him kissing the new flavour of the week in the dry evening. The heat had been cloying, clinging to him as he walked home alone, anger and misery and loneliness and the sense of  _I should have known_  all surging up in his chest, making him ache.

He'd heard about heartbreak in songs lyrics that made him want to tattoo their beauty on his skin, in the crack of words when someone spoke about what had happened late at night down a crackling phone line, seen it in eyeliner streaked by tears when Laurel's girlfriend couldn't handle Laurel's fame and left her in the dust, but he'd never felt it. The ache in his chest, a void that sucked all the joy out of him until he felt heavy. A bed that became his home for the next three days, until a worried Michaela arrived bearing a bottle of champagne someone had given to her at the baby shower 'for the bad days with a newborn' and a sympathetic ear.

Now he's recovered. Recovered enough to just roll his eyes whenever Laurel says, "I told you so," and laugh along when Asher makes some open-mouth-insert-foot comment. But now he's facing an interview with a heartbreaker in less than an hour and the perfect tapestry he's crafted his life into, undisturbed by a love life, is unravelling around him, thread lying in haphazard circles at his feet. He just has to be an adult about this. A professional. If he can handle this, he'll know he's more than capable of dealing with Asher's sexting scandal. Or even with Laurel punching a man who wanted her to fuck another girl in front of him and getting in legal trouble for it.

By the time their new client arrives for an interview, he's spent an hour listening to Annalise, Frank and Bonnie dealing with the fallout of Asher's fuck-up, and he's smiling as he relives the moment when Bonnie called Frank a 'jumped-up bearded twat' over and over again. And that's how he sees Connor for the first time in three months, grinning himself stupid over childish name-calling. And then he pins on his most professional smile and holds out a hand to be shaken. "Connor Walsh, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Oliver Hampton, and I'm afraid the senior staff are currently preoccupied with another client and I'll be conducting your interview."

Connor gives him a lingering up-and-down look, and Oliver pushes down the swell of indignant anger that Connor doesn't recognise him. This interview will be so much easier if Connor just thinks he's an attractive man who will be working to create and maintain his public image. Besides, he was flavour of the week three months ago. If Connor always follows that same pattern, there will have been about fourteen more men since him. They were never anything more than sex.

(But he can't stop thinking about how he found the dark writing scrawling over Connor's heart and Connor's eyes filled with tears when he talked about the friend who was killed by a drunk driver, the friend Oliver suspected was so much more than that label, and the way Connor leaned into him and cried softly when Oliver offered supportive arms and the fact that they were more than sex because Connor took Oliver to his apartment and confessed that he'd never done that with anyone and he'd been naive enough to believe it could grow into more.)

"Believe me," Connor says, eyes flickering up and down Oliver's body again and his lips (the lips Oliver kissed, the lips that were all over his skin, the lips that didn't even say goodbye) curve into a wicked smirk that puts a glint in his eyes (his eyes that bored into Oliver's while they fucked, his eyes that smiled at him from across a crowded room, his eyes that made heat shiver down Oliver's spine with a mere look). "The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Hampton."

"We have a policy here, Mr. Walsh, of never mixing business with pleasure," Oliver says shortly, ushering Connor into the small consultation room and taking a moment to compose himself with a disdainful curl of his lip. Let Connor think that the blatant flirting wasn't pulling at his raw heart, not quite put back together. The entire process would be much easier if they could pretend nothing had ever happened - or Oliver could pretend and Connor could seem to have completely forgotten him. "That means we don't consider relationships with our clients. We've all worked in PR too long to be taken in by some smooth-talking singer." Even as he says it, he wishes to himself that it was true.

"Relationships?" Connor lifts an eyebrow, that infuriatingly sexy smirk in place, and Oliver tries not to react. That smirk could've reeled him in like a fish flapping on a hook a few months ago, but he's stronger now. He knows what a man like Connor could do to him, and he won't be pulled in by a few well-placed pick-up lines and a cocky attitude. "So does that mean that you and I could make some music in the office?" He leans closer, the sharp, spicy scent of his cologne overwhelming, and murmurs, "Have you ever had sex in the office, Oliver?" As Oliver's name falls from Connor's lips, sweet and sexy, recognition dawns in his eyes and he gives Oliver a long up and down look and a lascivious smirk. "I thought I knew you from somewhere, Mr. Hampton."

"Yes, well, that was months ago," Oliver says, his voice icily cool. Connor actually looks knocked a little off-balance, knowing his flirting hasn't worked, and Oliver can't help the small, warm thrill of triumph that runs through him. He'll be the one who surprises - the one who doesn't succumb to Connor's (considerable) charms. "If you don't mind taking a seat, we can conduct this interview. I am not here to flirt, Mr. Walsh, and you're wasting my time."

"I can assure you, I have no dirty laundry to air out," Connor says, long legs stretched out in the shiny black boots that Oliver stares at wistfully, knowing they would probably eat up too much of his downright depressing salary. "I'm an open book. I want the public to know me."

"The public always thinks they know celebrities," Oliver scoffs, and Connor appears to recoil at the venom in his voice. Thank God, the forced professionalism is working. "The job of Keating PR is to make sure that the public only know the parts of yourself that you want them to see. Everyone has skeletons in the closet, Mr. Walsh. Our job is to make sure they stay there."

"And I know that Keating PR, and all PR agencies, conduct background checks on new clients before they ever put a foot over the threshold," Connor says, lifting an eyebrow, daring Oliver to contradict him. "I'm sorry if you think I'm just a pretty face, but I went to law school before I left to chase a dream I didn't think was ever possible. You didn't find anything because there's nothing to find. I've been a very good boy, Mr. Hampton."

Connor calling him by his last name is hotter than Oliver ever could have anticipated, and he hastens to get the meeting over with before he does something embarrassing like ask for his number again. Not that he doesn't still have it. He just needs to know which  **DO NOT CALL THIS NUMBER**  that Laurel so charmingly changed half his contacts to is Connor.

By the time he gets rid of Connor, Frank is emerging from the office where he, Bonnie and Annalise have been closeted all morning, and he gives Oliver a stern look as soon as the door swings shut. "I really advise against getting involved with a client," he says, and Oliver turns to glare at him. "And don't give me that look, I'm your superior." Producing a fifty from his pocket, he presses it into Oliver's hand and says, "Run out and get us lunch. Coffee. Maybe some vodka. Keep whatever change you can get out of that for dealing with hair gel." Leaning close as if trading state secrets, he says, "Anything he says about dropping out of law school to pursue a dream is bullshit, by the way. He couldn't cope with the work, started screwing anyone who wanted it and got expelled for screwing the dean's son - in the office. Had a nervous breakdown right after that and got shipped into the care of doctors. Completely humiliated his poor mother, and he's been making his own way for the first time in his life."

As he steps out into the snow slanting down, tugging his hood down and scarf up to shield as much bare skin from the biting cold as possible, Oliver thinks momentarily about trying to catch up with Connor. Even if Frank was lying to him, he knows there's something more to Connor. No one has a record as clean as his - whatever he's done has simply been kept quiet. But the street is white with whirling snowflakes, and he has about as much chance of finding Connor as he does of making it back without wet socks.

**From: Michaela Pratt**

**Hate to ask, but could you pick me up some dinner? You can eat at my place tonight. Aiden isn't back until tomorrow and Lily is being too fussy to take her out. Anything goes.**

**From: Oliver Hampton**

**Guess what? Three months ago is the new Keating client. And he recognised me.**

**From: Michaela Pratt**

**Oh hell no.**


	2. Shoot For The Stars

**Title from _Moves Like Jagger_ by Maroon 5**

* * *

**A PARADE OF PAPER FACES: THE KEATING FOUR BECOMES FIVE**

**By Lila Stangard**

_The name Annalise Keating is never far from the lips of anyone in this industry we all love so. Keating was recognised as the most influential name in celebrity just last year, and when one meets the woman herself, imposing in her heels and dramatic make-up, it's easy to see why. Annalise would be a force to be reckoned with even without her husband, Sam, due largely to her tireless work in building Keating PR from the ground up, and the support of her two associates, Frank Delfino and Bonnie Winterbottom, incredible PR gurus in their own right. This trio are an unstoppable storm, and we all expect great things from the latest guru to join their team, Oliver Hampton. Does he have the makings of someone who could rival Keating, or is he just an intern who got lucky? Only time will tell._

_But, of course, Keating, Delfino, Winterbottom and Hampton are only the shadows, the behind the scenes to keep the show running smoothly. The people we see and love are the ones lucky enough to have become affectionately known as the Keating Four - Asher Millstone, comedic actor who has been amusing international audiences since his debut four years ago (starring in_ _ **Freakin' Whack-A-Mole**_ _, in cinemas January 10th); Michaela Pratt, actress commended for the range of emotions she portrays so well (currently on sabbatical after the birth of her first child, a daughter named Lily, with her fiancé, Aiden Walker, host of popular chat show_ _ **Let's Get To Scooping**_ _); Wes Gibbins, singer and well-known charmer (new album_ _ **She Devil**_   _released at midnight on December 21st, just in time for Christmas!); and last, but never least, Laurel Castillo, singer and stunning dark horse (newest single,_ _ **Wooden Heart**_ _, available on iTunes now)._

_Now, the Keating Four becomes the Keating Five, with Sam Keating's newest (and prettiest) acquisition - Connor Walsh, a singer with the sort of voice that would make anyone question their sexuality, and looks that are possibly even better. He makes Gibbins look like the Bieber of today, and I say this as a true fan of Wes. Though Walsh's first album is not scheduled for release until next summer, I will say with my hand on my heart that I await it eagerly. Hats off to the Keating pair for making the excellent decision to take him on._

"I always like Lila's articles," Oliver observes as Michaela scrolls further down the  _Entertainment Weekly_  homepage, a smug little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "She's always so glowing about everybody - but that's laying it on really thick about Connor. Wes isn't going to like that - he's always been the charmer of the group."

"Oh please, Wes could charm the birds away from the table in the middle of winter, and Connor Walsh wouldn't know charm if it kicked him in the face," Michaela scoffs. "Sam or Annalise obviously bribed her to exaggerate his decent qualities to get the public all excited about him. The singing voice, I will give him. The looks, maybe. But he is not more charming than Wes."

"Michaela, you've never even met the guy," Oliver protests, grinning at Lily in her crib and wiggling his fingers at her, watching her eyes focus in on him, her fascinated expression at the glasses she's not used to reflecting the light. "You're the one who preached about not judging someone before we met them when the background check pulled out that Wes' mother killed herself and he was in a foster home."

"Oliver, you're one of my best friends, and Connor Walsh really hurt you," Michaela says, logging onto Twitter and opening her mentions. "That's all the evidence I need to know he isn't the charmer Lila makes him out to be. But she was very nice about me, and she plugged Aiden's show - I'll have to send her a bottle of wine. Want to split the cost? She's one of the only writers who mentions you."

Both of them start when the door opens, and Laurel crosses the threshold, brushing snow off the shoulders of her leather jacket and shaking her hair free of her beanie. "Jesus, it's a blizzard out there," she remarks, unzipping the jacket to reveal a sweater so soft-looking and so well-cut that it can only have cost an amount Oliver can't even comprehend spending on mere clothes. "And did you know the hashtag 'Welcome Connor Walsh' has been trending for three hours? It would be at the top if Coca Cola weren't promoting their Christmas ad."

"Where did you get that sweater?" Michaela says, eyes bright with admiration. She looks despairingly down at her figure, hidden behind a Christmas sweater emblazoned with the names of Santa's reindeer in bold black writing, and sighs heavily. "I still haven't taken off the baby weight."

"Early Christmas present from the man in my life," Laurel says proudly, twirling slightly to show it off. "Wes and I both grew up in families with a tradition of exchanging one present each early, so we swapped presents last night instead of waiting for Christmas Eve. I got him one of those fancy watches he drools over online, he was so grateful. It was the best sex we've ever had."

"Thank you for sharing that, Laurel," Oliver remarks, and she laughs, pulling one of the padded bar stools up to the counter and helping herself to a plum from the fruit bowl. "Now, I know both of you have men in your life to swap thoughtful gifts with, but I want to remind you that I don't and haven't had one for a very long time, and it is the season to be considerate of your single friends who won't get kissed on New Year's. So, let's talk about what we're here for: have you picked a date for the wedding yet?"

"Of course I have, Oliver, I've been planning this day since Aiden and I met!" Michaela says, and Laurel rolls her eyes at Oliver, smiling as she lifts Lily out of her crib and cuddles her against her soft sweater. "It's going to be on April 12th, so there's still blossom on the trees for the pictures. I just need to keep going to monthly fittings for my dress and get everyone fitted for dresses and suits. I'm sure Wes and Asher can fend for themselves, but as my best man and my maid of honour, I'll be paying for your outfits." Tilting her head, she says, "I'm thinking a very deep purple, it'll look stunning against bright spring colours. I want strong colours, not traditional spring pastel."

Oliver catches Laurel's eye and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep back a laugh at Michaela's sudden enthusiasm, bringing out the white folder and flipping frantically through it to the section that encompasses dozens of dresses and suits, dream looks that she's been pulling out of magazines since she first knew what a wedding was. "I almost wish I'd gotten married while I was pregnant, there were some gorgeous maternity dresses in this month's  _Modern Bride_ ," she says mournfully, and Laurel turns to look out of the window, lips clamped tightly together. "I guess the bride of today often gets married after getting knocked up." Nodding when she turns to look at them, Oliver smacks Laurel's thigh with the back of his hand when she lets out a snort, and Michaela narrows her eyes at them. "You're both terrible people. If it was one of you getting married, I wouldn't laugh even if you wanted to have a  _Gone With The Wind_  theme."

Laurel screws up her face in disgust and retorts, "You're a true friend, Michaela. But if we're going to be doing some intense wedding planning, can we order in? And you must have some wine somewhere. Or tequila." Sliding down off the stool, she wheels around the counters to look in the fridge, and Michaela rolls her eyes. "And I'll put Lily to bed before we corrupt her!"

Oliver would normally spend the next hour drinking careful síps in order to stay sober enough to drive home, but tonight ends a long and exhausting week, both emotionally and physically. Cleaning up Asher's mess had meant the paparazzi swarming around him like wasps around an apple every time he tried to navigate the treacherously icy streets, leading to more than one occasion of ducking into a small shop or café to escape the predatory gaze of their cameras. Not to mention the workload increasing as the holiday season swept across the city, leading to him having to turn down his brother's invitation to spend Christmas with him, and finally meet his baby niece. Annalise is a great woman, driven and ambitious and inspirational, but she expects everyone around her to keep up with her sprint - and he's running out of breath.

Michaela looks shocked when Oliver swallows a shot of tequila and immediately refills his glass, but she quickly gets over it and takes her own. She drinks slower than Oliver or Laurel, showing some sense of responsibility for the fact that she's taking care of a baby alone for long stretches of time - Aiden spends much of his time during the winter hiatus period looking for new opportunities and guests for his show - but is still going steadily. "Is this a side effect of Annalise taking Connor on?" Laurel asks, squinting as Oliver splashes lemonade into a glass and tops it off with vodka. "I thought you were over it. Or is downloading Grindr just about sex?"

"Do I have to change my phone password again?" Oliver asks, and Laurel just winks at him, swinging her legs back and forth and seeming the picture of innocence. "There's nothing concerning me about Connor joining us. It's a professional environment, and I'm not hung up on him. We never had anything to be hung up on."

"If you want him back, you better get up on that quickly, because you're competing with most of America," Michaela jokes. "I know I'm engaged, but I understand where Lila's coming from. The guy is very pretty." She picks up her glass, then almost spills it as she turns to face them, eyes bright with a sudden jolt of inspiration. "We should invite him to Asher's New Year's party! It's totally not fair to exclude him when he's part of the gang now. We always invite Bonnie and Frank and Annalise even though they never show up, so why not him?"

"Ugh, I totally forgot that it was Asher's turn to host this year," Laurel says, glaring at her glass as if it's all the fault of tequila. "Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy. But he's the most obnoxious drunk I've ever met, and I can't stand his family. Why do they insist on visiting him for Christmas?"

"Because Asher insists on staying here because Annalise and the fate of his entire career rests in Manhattan," Oliver says, and Laurel smiles. "Isn't that why all of us stay? Anyway, if we arrive fashionably late, Asher will have deposited his parents in a hotel for the night and the party will know no boundaries. You know he's generous with the drink every time we're there." Taking another drink, he sighs heavily and says, "Connor's number will be somewhere on file, and he's dropping by with his new manager to figure out the image they want to broadcast. I'll talk to him."

"How much longer are you in the office, anyway?" Michaeala asks. "Not that I'm enjoying being a housewife and chief caretaker, but how can Annalise possibly keep you working this far into the festive season? Doesn't that woman have a shred of holiday spirit?"

"We are talking about Annalise Keating," Oliver points out, and both women laugh. "But the closer we go to Christmas, the more time we can take off afterwards. We're just working very hard, and of course we have to stay accessible through the holidays, just in case. But considering all four of us spent three hours decorating the office, Annalise seems to have mellowed out for Christmas. Her husband dropped by and we all had a few drinks in the office together. This is our last week, and then I'm out of the office for three weeks, as long as there's no scandals." Wagging his finger at the two women, he sternly says, "So no stirring up trouble, okay?!"

"Yes, boss," Laurel says, winking at him, and Michaela laughs. A phone starts to ring, and Oliver's hand reflexively falls to his pocket to check if it's him before he realises it's Laurel, who smiles at the screen. "Hey baby," she says, and Michaela makes a disgusted face at Oliver over Laurel's shoulder. "Nothing much, just drinking with Oliver and Michaela. Don't be so charming, Wes, it's getting old. Yeah, I'll swing by later. I can't stay over, I don't have a change of clothes and I have a meeting tomorrow morning. Okay, see you later. Mm-hmm, me too." Turning her attention back to them, she rolls her eyes and says, "And women are supposed to be the clingy ones."

Lifting his eyebrows, Oliver quickly changes his gaze to his glass to avoid catching Laurel's eye. Seemingly, his prediction that Laurel is beginning to grow bored with her simple, easy relationship with Wes is correct. "Which reminds me, 'Kay, are we still on for Christmas here?"

"Oh, Oliver, that's what I was going to ask you!" Michaela says, spilling a little of her drink as she spins on her stool to look at Oliver with bright, excited eyes. "We're having a bit of a wedding party plus partners dinner on Christmas, since we're like some Lonely Hearts Club stuck here and not visiting our families because of work. Aiden's brother is coming, and this girl who works on the show with him who he's picked as his maid of honour. And since Laurel and Wes are gracing us with their sex-crazed presence," Laurel pokes her tongue out at Michaela, who winks saucily at her, "we would love to have you there too. No pressure to bring a date, Manny and...I don't remember her name, but they're both coming solo."

"Not like I have any other plans," Oliver says, and Michaela beams at him. He watches her take her next shot, lip balm leaving a smudge on the rim of her glass, and sets his down, the clink of the glass on wood echoing. "I should probably stop drinking. Connor's agent is coming in for a meeting with Annalise and I've been asked to be there."

"Ms. Keating is grooming you to take over from her," Laurel says, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Maybe she'll take an early retirement. Her and Sam are so successful they could live for years on their salaries without having to work a day. I'm sure you'll really enjoy working up close and personal with Connor Walsh. What was it you said the day after meeting him?"

"I remember!" Michaela volunteers, giggling as Laurel smirks wickedly at Oliver. "He came into work looking thoroughly fucked and got chewed out by Bonnie for being late and proceeded to tell us about this guy with the illegal tongue and the 'eyes that fucked better than my last boyfriend's dick' and how he would've fucked him on a barstool and how he's never gotten such a good response after telling a guy how horny he is and-" She squeaks indignantly when Oliver elbows her hard, making her spill some of her drink. "Asshole!"

"Oh, fuck both of you," Oliver says drolly, and Laurel laughs. "I should really go home. If you think Bonnie chews you out for being late, Annalise is a hundred times worse. And you should've seen the way she exploded when Frank showed up from a date with his ex hungover to the teeth."

"But we're definitely on for Christmas?" Michaela asks anxiously, and then suddenly exclaims, "Rebecca! That's the name of Aiden's maid of honour! She works on his show getting information for his guests!"

"I'll be here, as long as you serve the turkey with too much gravy," Oliver says, leaning over to kiss both women's cheeks "Take it easy, you two, it's not the Christmas holidays yet." Laurel raises her glass and he slips out, pulling his coat tightly around him against the December chill as he walks home.

Overnight, the weather worsens again, and it takes him an hour to get to work. Stumbling into the office, scarf trailing and papers tucked beneath his coat to keep them out of the slanting snowstorm outside, Oliver hastily says, "Sorry I'm late," before Annalise says anything, already feeling the glare of her unimpressed gaze on him, "There was an accident on the road because of the ice, I promise you I wasn't deliberately late, Annalise."

"I'm not interested in excuses, Oliver, I'm interested in you sitting down and keeping your mouth shut," Annalise snaps, and Oliver immediately drops into the nearest chair, hoping that his face isn't too red from running in the cold. "You're lucky - Mr. Walsh called a few minutes again to notify me that he and his manager are also stuck in traffic and will be here shortly. Don't ever be late again."

Nodding frantically, heart pounding, Oliver just manages to compose himself and have the papers neatly organised before Connor comes storming into the room like a hurricane ready to wreak havoc on his life. Despite the early hour - when he sent Laurel a wake-up text to ensure she wouldn't be late for her meeting with Sam, her reply was  **Annalise is a bitch for having you in the office at eight right before Christmas**  - Connor looks perfectly composed, already absorbing the benefits of the lifestyle that comes with being catapulted into the world of celebrity. His agent is a woman almost as imposing as Annalise herself, and from their expressions of utter distaste its clear that they see right through each other. And then she turns to Oliver, extending a manicured hand and smiling charmingly. "Wendy Parks. Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about Keating's handsome young intern."

"Oliver Hampton, and the pleasure is all mine, ma'am," Oliver says, returning the smile. "But I'm sure that we all have other places we'd like to be, as it's so close to the holidays, so shall we get on with the meeting?" The smile on Wendy's face slips a little, and Oliver preens internally when he notices Annalise's eyes take on a momentary glimmer of pride.

"Of course, what we're here to discuss is the image which we will give the public of Connor," Wendy says, her voice taking on a chilling edge, all the charismatic warmth gone. "He's a very talented young man, but public image is everything these days."

"I have one question for you, Connor," Annalise says. "Do you want to be out to the public or not? And I know you're gay, Oliver here is a skilled interviewer. He would never have been hired if he wasn't."

"I'll be honest, Ms. Keating, the reason I came to you is because of your refusal to drop Laurel Castillo after the scandal with her and the girlfriend last year," Connor says, and Oliver feels a strange thrill of something like respect. "I admired your ballsy approach to handling the situation and I'm glad that you allow your clients to be themselves - I mean, who else would be able to handle Asher Millstone's serial dating?" Annalise, unaffected by the heavy praise, is still staring at him, eyes probing for an answer. "I want to be out to the public. I'm not going to hide such a huge part of myself, and I don't want to be shoved into taking women to awards shows and so on. This is who I am, and people are going to have to accept it."

As Annalise and Wendy dive into the logistics of marketing and image, barely able to hide their disdain for each other, Oliver stares at Connor in consideration. Frank's words are still swirling around in his head, stewing there, and he can't quite seem to figure Connor out. For all he might proclaim to be an open book, the only people who say that are the most closed, the ones who keep their secrets tight to their chest and betray nothing. Connor sits up straight, his eyes alert, and one corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. He's confident, assured, aware of his own appeal - but he's hiding something. If Oliver looks hard enough, he can almost see the join where the mask is hiding so much.

An absent father? An unloving family? A friend who committed suicide? Childhood abuse - emotional, physical, sexual? High school bullies? It could be anything, and Oliver can't get enough of a read on Connor to discover what it is. He's like a book written in a foreign language, knowing there are words there but being unable to understand them. According to Frank, the nervous breakdown was to do with an overload of work, not being ready for law school. But that doesn't seem like Connor, driven to achieve, cool and calm. There's a reason, and Oliver wants to be the one to find it out.


End file.
